The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-21 10:56:14 -

The Faded Bouquet

The dream had no floor, only a ceiling of wet, black oak beams that groaned under the weight of centuries of silence. I stood in the middle of the vaulted hall, my hands clasped behind my back, feeling the rough wool of my tunic against my spine, a texture so familiar it felt less like clothing and more like a second skin grown over the years. The air was thick, tasting of damp stone, rotting...

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